To welcome someone back implies that the welcomed person has been away or separated from the welcomer. It also implies that the orientation of “from” is shared by both people in order for the “back” to be accomplished. But…what if it isn’t?

The first, and strongest image that comes to mind with this phrase is that of me, as a child, returning home. That sounds slightly odd I know, until I tell you that I didn’t know where home was…because I’m a fourth-generation missionary kid. As a child, I knew my parents considered the United States to be their home…but I didn’t. My home was where I lived…where my friends were…where my life was…which wasn’t the United States. They were excited whenever furlough time came…I was not. They were happy to leave for the United States…I was happy to leave the United States. So, when we were greeted by blood relations (who were strangers to me), invariably the greeting was some form of “Welcome Home!” Not wanting to betray my parents’ loyalties, I smiled and responded appropriately…all the while wishing I were in my real home.

We returned to the United States, permanently, during war-time conditions for our host country. All of us had been traumatized by the war and I felt like a refugee…banished from my home. This time, when we arrived in the United States, no one welcomed us back or home. It was assumed that we were happy to be in the United States…that to want to be anywhere else was not simply ridiculous…it wasn’t even a consideration.

So for me, the phrases “Welcome Home!” or “Welcome Back!” carry a connotation of selfishness from the perspective of the welcomer…that the welcomer is implying that this is the only place or space to return to after leaving…that the separation hasn’t changed anyone or anything…that everything can now return to the way it used to be.

The second image I see is that of someone in the hospital…someone who has been in a coma or through a surgery, and he or she is waking up. The person waking up is disoriented, might feel a significant amount of discomfort or pain, and may be easily overwhelmed by the bombardment of sounds, lights, and people. Coming back to a conscious state may not be such a fabulous experience for the welcomed individual…even if it is for the welcomer.

Finally, I see soldiers returning home from active duty. These people have seen and experienced things that they may not even be able to verbalize. There’s a good chance they don’t even know how they feel about their experience because they haven’t had a chance or allowed themselves to feel or process much of it in order to survive. Coming “home” or “back” only means that now the real hell begins…facing the inner emotions and memories that will now forever color the way they see the world and their place in it.

“Welcome back!” is not a welcoming statement…except for the person stating it. For the welcomed, it’s a lonely statement…isolating…it includes grief and pain and separation…it means that life as we know it will never be the same again. And, for me, the person receiving that statement, it’s trite and insincere.

Until today.

Today I met a lovely, and deeply soulful Jewish woman, one of the facilitators at the NVC conference. We sat on a bench in the sun and connected, initially through the class’s content, then through our spirituality, and finally, through our Jewishness. Then she discovers that I converted to Judaism and I expect the inevitable question about why I converted to Judaism and I prepare my standard answer. Instead, she surprises me by asking, “How and when did you know you were Jewish?” I’m stunned to realized that my standard answer has found the appropriate question: When I was four years old, I asked my mother if we were Jewish. When she said no, I burst into tears.

This isn’t a new story for me…crying at the age of four years old…nor is the reaction of other Jews to my story dissimilar from this woman’s. But she does something fundamentally different…she sees me. As in the Avatar form of seeing me. With tears in her eyes, she reaches out with both her arms, gently grasps my arms with her hands and looks at me…her heart opening toward me with gratitude and unconditional love. She looks at me…wordlessly…letting the tears run down her face. “You are a Holocaust Jew!” she whispers with great emotion. My breath hiccups, tears instantly flow from my eyes, my body slumps and surrenders to the safety of being seen and acknowledged for who I am…as she sees my soul and holds me in great love. I nod…incapable of speaking. And then she says the most beautiful two words I have ever heard…words that offer connection…words that offer community…words that offer recognition of where I’ve been and acceptance for where I am now.

Tonight, I’m grateful that I survived my week. I’m grateful for the space to just be…in silence…after such an overly scheduled week. I’m grateful that, in spite of so many things that were scheduled for this week, that they all happened…without significant glitches. I’m grateful for the sense of wonder and appreciation that accompanies that realization. I’m grateful that I experienced this hectic week primarily from a place of grace and ease.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to attend the Non-violent Communication seminar this weekend. I’m grateful that someone, or many someones, gave out of their abundance so that the entire weekend could be subsidized for anyone who wished to come. I’m grateful that so many people came, signifying a growing community of people committed to connection and mutuality. I’m grateful for the profound leadership of the teachers and their commitment to service. I’m grateful to be connected with these people and consider them to be a part of my community.

I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to share my healing gifts today during the sessions. I’m grateful for the healing and shifts that occurred in me as I made myself available to help another. I’m grateful for insights and tools I received as I shared mine with others. I’m grateful for a deeper connection with my intuition and the clarity of reception of the messages. I’m grateful that I was gentle with myself in practicing new skills. I’m even more grateful for the recognition and reflection of that gentleness from my class partner…I hadn’t realized my self-directed gentleness until that moment.

I’m grateful that I purchased my lunch yesterday so that I could be of service to others during lunch today. I’m even more grateful that I didn’t have time to eat all of it so that I could eat the rest for dinner tonight, as I’m just too tired to cook. I’m grateful for the promise of rejuvenation through a restful sleep. I’m grateful for nourishing food that will aid in the rejuvenation of my body during sleep.

During the lunch break for the Non-violent Communication seminar, I was gifted with an opportunity to test my skills. I’m sure some part of me is very grateful for this test. I’m still trying to access that part of myself…the majority of me is just not quite convinced that it was necessary.

Before I experienced life through a wheat-free lens, lunches at conventions, seminars, airplanes, weddings, funerals, and such were often frustrating due to my vegetarianism (it sounds like an incurable disease, doesn’t it?). So many food providers are at a complete loss as to how to prepare a vegetarian meal that I came to dread those times in an otherwise lovely and stimulating experience. Now, it’s positively horrific.

On the one hand, I’m very grateful that lunch was available on-site. I’m also very grateful that there were salads available. I’m not quite so grateful that none of the salads were vegetarian.

I’m so not kidding.

But, I am grateful that there was a vegetarian option. I’m not quite so grateful that it was a sandwich…made with wheat-based bread…and without a salad. Seriously. I was very proud of myself for saying politely that, while the sandwich looked delicious, I couldn’t eat it, but thanks for providing it anyhow.

I know! At times, this transformation thing really comes through in magnificent ways.

So, I drive away to the nearest health-food store to get a gluten-free sandwich and a freshly juiced drink. Alas. It is a beautiful Saturday, and everyone has the same brilliant idea to go to the beach, so the freeway is crowded…and slow. At this point, my irritation escalates. I start my pity party around not being able to eat wheat and sulk that no one even considers people like me and now the freeway is clogged with stupid people keeping me from my sandwich that will most likely be dry and tasteless.

I know. The transformation thing didn’t last long.

By the time I get to the health-food store, I’m grumpy and quite annoyed. I breathe deeply, looking for that gratitude spot that such a store exists, and that the possibility for a gluten-free lunch also exists. Humph! I think. Possibilities, my a$$! This should be mainstream! If it’s bad for me, it’s bad for everyone else (Isn’t there a saying somewhere that misery loves company? I think I invented it.).

I wait until I’m calmer before walking into the store. I approach the deli counter and ask if they have gluten-free bread. They nod…quite bored with the question. I fairly dance with joy and proclaim them my new best friends. I place my sandwich and juice order and wait. And wait. And wait. Ten minutes later (I timed it), my sandwich is ready. I pay for it and the juiced drink, trusting that it will show up at any moment, as the juicer is whining away…as it has been for the past 10 minutes without much to show for it. I wait five more minutes and ask about my drink. They then realize that the drink order has been lost. I realize I’m out of time and have to leave.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, “I can’t wait. I have to leave.”

I didn’t raise my voice or express irritation. Once again, transformation popped back in momentarily.

As I walk to my car, however, the injustice of the situation riles me all up. The line at the register was so long, that I didn’t even have time to get a refund on my drink. All because I couldn’t eat wheat!!!! Stupid wheat.

On the drive back to the seminar, I try to use the self-empathy tools to calm my spirit and body down. The sulking returns and I find myself vowing to never go back to that store again.

However, I hear a voice tell me, “If you go back after the seminar is over, you’ll get your drink without paying extra.”

I’m not sure I heard correctly, so I ask, “Really?!”

“Go back after the seminar ends today. It’s important that you do this.”

“We’ll see,” I reply.

After the seminar finishes for the day, I debate whether I should go back to the store. If I do, I could get lunch for the next day’s seminar-lunch and be super prepared. I hear again that it’s very important that I go back, so I reluctantly agree to return.

As I drive, the same voice asks me if I can now feel empathy for those behind the counter. I begrudgingly admit that it’s slightly possible that there had been a lunch rush…that someone may be having a bad day…that maybe someone wasn’t feeling well…that they may have run out of ingredients and had to go to the stock room to refill, slowing down the process…that a shift had changed and communication may have failed.

I am instructed to stay in this space of empathy as I walk back into the store. I am also instructed not to bring up the drink…to just order my lunch for tomorrow and watch what happens.

I do as I’m told. As I approach the counter, the drink guy from lunch is the only one behind the counter. He asks me what I would like. As I ask for a salad, he says, “I’m really sorry about what happened with your drink earlier today.”

I look up in complete surprise.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

I know the shock is all over my face. “Yes!” I reply “It was!”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats.

“Thank you,” I reply, “but please don’t worry about it. I imagine you had a lunch rush and things got a bit confused. I had an appointment and couldn’t wait, that’s all.”

Relief floods his face, and I realize that this person looks ill…like he needs to be in bed eating chicken soup. In that moment, I remember what it’s like to have to work when sick because I can’t afford to lose the income due to the job not having sick time. My compassion increases for the young guy.

“That’s exactly what happened,” he explains, “and our stock was low and I had to restock before making any drinks, and your order got placed in the wrong place.”

“How frustrating!” I reply.

He smiles, “It was!”

He hands me my last container and asks if I need anything more. I ask if I could get my drink from lunch. He lights up, and I realize he may be happy to do something to rectify the situation. “Yes! What size did you order?”

“That’s even worse!” he exclaims. “I’ll make sure you get your drink this time.”

“Thank you so much!” I reply.

Several hours later, I’m still pondering the necessity for this situation, and all I’m getting is that it was a test…an opportunity to actually use my tools to resolve conflict in a new way…using new skills, new thoughts, new behaviors, new words. It was uncomfortable, and I didn’t enjoy it, but a new groove in my brain is beginning to form…providing me with options and a freedom to choose where once I had none.

So…maybe I have found that gratitude part of me…and it’s bigger than I originally thought.

The word “Reconstruction” is a challenging word for me. It evokes memories of the period of U.S. history after the Civil War…and I have no idea why I wrote “memories,” except that somehow it’s appropriate and the word persists in staying.

The memories of this time in history bring up all sorts of unpleasantness…of a time where everything that had once been accepted and comfortable and predictable, no matter how abhorrent, no longer could continue. Nothing was as it used to be, and everyone was forced to alter their way of be-ing…whether they wanted to or not. Of course, such an environment is going to have backlash…and such backlash is sure to be horrific…and it was.

So, to apply that term to my present state of existence is increasingly fitting…including the unpleasantness and backlash. All habits, patterns of behaviors, ways of thinking, and stories of events no longer work. I am changing…therefore those things must change as well. And, even though I’m glad for the change, it’s excessively uncomfortable, for everything is new and not predictable. This means I make mistakes…and at my age, my story goes, I should know better…I should handle this better…I should be kinder…I should be more patient…I should have more control of myself..etc. But, the truth is…I’m not. And I don’t. It’s challenging, exhausting, and some days, just plain hard. The most interesting difficulty of all? Accepting and allowing the challenge to be there…without judgement or story.

This process was highlighted today, because I attended a day-long Non-violent Communication seminar. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced NVC with my teachers, and I found myself feeling both shock and relief…shock at how much I have forgotten to apply to my daily life, and relief for the reminder of all the tools at my disposal to address issues that are present for me…issues very very much alive and full of juicy energy.

One particular exercise that revealed this active transformative process on my life was one in which we were given the opportunity to examine a situation from two perspectives: “Have to” and “Choose to.” At the facilitator’s suggestion, I chose a benign issue so that I could practice this new skill/tool without too much coming up for healing. The issue: cleaning out my closet.

Seriously. Cleaning out my closet shouldn’t be a big deal. Right?

Oh…but it is. I’ve been trying to clean out this closet for four months. Everytime I think about it, I think of the mess it’ll make, how I don’t know where to begin, how I don’t have time to really put the focus and attention on the task like I want to, and how if I get rid of stuff, then I won’t have what I need when I need it.

Seriously.

Then the thoughts begin telling a judgemental story about all those feelings and I just really don’t have time to figure it all out, so I walk away to do something distracting and fun.

Until today. Today, I couldn’t walk away from it. Today, I decided to look at this situation and see if I could identify the resistance, which is massive, and flip the resistance to a “Choose to.” I had no idea there was so much to uncover.

As I physically stepped into the circle designated as “Have to,” my breathing intensified, deepened, quickened, and became quite forceful. Some part of me was surprised that I didn’t spew fire from my nostrils. Then, I noticed that my hands were clenched in tight fists. My face was scrunched, and my forehead furrowed and lowered. My feet were shoulder width apart, and my heels were planted firmly in the floor. Heat shot through my body as I realized that I was livid and ready for battle. At this point, I started noticing my thoughts: “You can’t make me!” “I won’t do it!” “Stop taking things away from me!” “I won’t let you do this to me again!” “This is mine!” “Stop forcing me to do things I don’t want to do!”

Then I saw myself as a child…packing…again…and again…and again. Being forced to move, over and over and over again…completely powerless and unheard. Having to leave my friends, and my home, sell my things or give them away, without ever having a choice in the matter…or the opportunity to express my displeasure in the fact that someone else chose for me and now I have to live with the consequences. Even as I write this, there is still juice in this situation…albeit it now comes in the form of tears rather than rage.

I stayed in this space, making room for everything until no more forced its way to be seen. The juice was still very much there, but it was stagnantly roiling. I allowed myself to step out of the “Have to” circle. I took a deep breath and slowly relaxed. Then, I shook my body to loosen it up and wiped all that gook off of me. The facilitator then helped us breathe for a few minutes before the next step: “Choose to.”

As I stepped into the “Choose to” circle, things are very different. My arms are folded across my chest. I find this startling, because many people interpret this stance to be one of defiance and distancing. I search for the corresponding emotions in my body and don’t find them. Instead, I find that I’m feeling thoughtful…contemplative and analytical. My breathing is calm and slow…my body relaxed…my brain unusually quiet.

Then I recognize that all those feelings of resistance were old patterns. Old thoughts. Old ways of be-ing. Old ways of having my needs met. They served a very important purpose when I was young, but that situation no longer exists…therefore, those old ways are no longer needed. I think, “Huh! Fascinating!” I look over at the “Have to” circle and “see” all those emotions and thoughts and behaviors and I feel compassion for myself in that space. I see all the hurt and anger and fear and recognize that I was doing the very best I could do…and, surprisingly, those ways I created worked really really well!

I bow to all those emotions, thoughts, and behaviors…thanking them for protecting me…for helping me meet my needs in the best way I knew how. I then let them know that I have other ways of meeting those needs now and don’t need them any longer. They relax, deflate a bit, shrug and move away. I then “see” my closet again, and this time, things are completely different. I realize I really do want the change, and, for the first time, see the closet as I want it to be when I’m finished. Instantly, I’m filled with so much creative, inspirational energy that I want to leave class, drive home, and start cleaning out my closet.

Who knew?! That such a simple task as cleaning out a closet could bring so much up…and then heal so much…making room for a new way of thinking…feeling…behaving…be-ing. This is my present process. This is reconstruction…uncomfortable and unpredictable…and so freeing.

Today, I’m grateful for a refreshed earth that surrounds me. I’m grateful for the rain that provided the refreshing. I’m grateful for the flowers that bloom fully, and unabashedly in all their glory. I’m grateful for the ability to perceive color and scents in order to more fully experience the flowers. I’m grateful for the birds who daily serenade me at my office window. I’m grateful for my ears in order to more fully experience their songs of joy.

I’m grateful for the deep healing I experienced this week as facilitated by one of my mentors. I’m grateful for her encouragement, support, and guidance as I move into unfamiliar territory as a business owner and healing practitioner. I’m grateful for the inspiration to design and create my Reiki advertising materials. I’m grateful that I like them so much. I’m grateful for finding an insurance policy that resonated with me. I’m grateful that I have plenty of money to cover these expenses.

I’m grateful for friends who are also business owners in town. I’m grateful for their willingness to connect me with their network. I’m grateful for the beautiful, sleek, and sexy new computer that is now part of my world because of this network.

I’m grateful that my journey of healing has connected me with other beautiful souls also healing similar issues. I’m grateful for the support and Unconditional Love that accompanies these relationships. I’m grateful that I have a dinner appointment tonight with one of my soul sisters. I’m grateful for the blessings that will be shared tonight as a result of sharing and being vulnerable with one another.

I’m grateful for the ancient wisdom of nature’s medicines in the form of food, roots, leaves, flowers and bark. I’m grateful that this wisdom is shared with me in order to support my body. I’m grateful for the additional support in the form of Vitamin B, Vitamin D3, prebiotics, and probiotics. I’m deeply grateful for the luscious aroma of Absolute Rose Oil. I’m even more grateful for everyone involved in the process of creating such a beautiful product. I’m grateful that the roses are so willing to share themselves with me, so that my heart can continue to heal and love others.

I’m grateful for the beautiful kitty I met on my walk to work this morning. I’m grateful she was so friendly and shared her purr with me. I’m grateful for the entertainment of watching a blue jay taunt and tease the kitty. I’m grateful for the giggles that never stopped in watching the dance. I’m grateful for the humor I was able to see in a personal situation as I watched the kitty get all riled up and chatter disgust at the blue jay. I’m grateful for the lesson I was able to see in watching the blue jay intentionally harass the kitty so long as the kitty couldn’t resist the temptation of possible bird food. I’m grateful that in spite of such a situation, both the bird and kitty are infinitely loved by the Universe and Sacredness…as am I.

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Today, I was reminded of an interesting phenomenon: as people age, the instinct to look up lessens. The article I read (for an Educational Psychology class, I think) described how when children play hiding games, their searching strategy included looking up more frequently than looking down. Consequently, when hiding, the strategy is to hide under things rather than on top of things. And, as we age, this process reverses.

Since then, I’ve often wondered if this simple change, the frequency of looking up vs. down, plays a role in losing the child-like wonder of the world as one ages. I haven’t tested this idea except on myself…and I can tell you that whenever I take time to look up, I always feel uplifted, lighter, happier and more relaxed. So, I’ve also made it a practice to look up as often as I can while I go about my life. This, then, is the primary reason I look into the sky while walking from my car to my office each morning.

One recent morning, however, the sky captivated me from the moment I stepped out of the house. As one who struggles to accomplish anything other than routine practices before the hour of 10 am (including waking up enough to get to work on time), I feel quite accomplished even remembering to look up while walking to work each morning; to notice the sky before that moment means something spectacular is taking place. And indeed it was.

Wispy bits of flowing clouds, arranged in all different shapes and directions, filled the sky. I stared at it a while, quite distracted as I drove. And then I saw it…a cloud angel. Then there was another one…and another…and another. They were everywhere…and they all looked different. Some faced me, some were side profiles, some showed only their backs. Some had big wings and others had small wings. Some had streaming hair and others only had a head silhouette.

By the time I could get out of the car and locate an image capturer (only my low-quality phone camera was available), this huge one was the only angel remaining in the sky. She held on to her shape until I snapped her photo and then I watched her dissipate. As she did, I felt her surround me with love and hugs and her presence stayed with me all day.

Thank you angel messengers for reminding me to experience the endless amount of Divine Unconditional Love that always surrounds me.

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Tonight, I’m grateful that I have access to fresh, locally grown, organic food every day.

I’m grateful that, while I love Stephanie Plum, I’m not in bond enforcement. I’m grateful that I was able to vent my frustrations while cheering on the “law enforcement” boys on Modern Family this week.

I’m grateful that I was able to find the rogue walky-talky, volume on high, that had been stashed in the library. I’m grateful I found it before it drove me absolutely nuts…I was only partially nuts.

I’m grateful that I now have a place to practice Reiki. I’m grateful that the salon owner is so supportive of Reiki and received a healing just in hugging me. I’m grateful that the salon owner wants to advertise Reiki as part of the services her salon has to offer. I’m grateful the salon owner is so generous already in mentoring me as a new business woman. I’m grateful that my landlord is fully supportive of me registering my business at my house. I’m even more grateful that that won’t be necessary.

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Tonight, I’m grateful for a productive session with my most trying student. I’m grateful that the internet at work didn’t go out until after my work day finished.

I’m grateful for all the smiles I received today.

I’m grateful for easily finding a parking spot in a lot under construction. I’m grateful that the open parking spot was easy to park in. I’m grateful that the stores I visited today had exactly what I needed.

I’m grateful for an unexpected check in the mail. I’m grateful that The Universe provided money for me to keep an appointment I made in faith.

I’m grateful that the computer I chose to buy “happened” to be on sale today, allowing me to easily pay for it. I’m grateful that by ordering it today, I can benefit from the generosity of the sale.

I’m grateful I found my Vitamin D3 that has been missing for a couple of days (that’s my story anyhow). I’m grateful for time to read this afternoon.

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Tonight, I’m grateful for a warm enough day to wear a sundress. I’m grateful for the beautiful walk along the beach…with a friend’s house as the ending point. I’m grateful that the friend I visited is a fellow foodie. I’m grateful for the delectably sumptuous spread we created for ourselves. I’m grateful for a lovely dog-inspired walk-about in the neighborhood whilst sipping on disguised iced pinot grigio (shhhh!). I’m grateful for kindred spirits and the laughter that inevitably bubbles up between us.

I’m grateful for the honor of working with a new client in a stunning new setting. I’m grateful for all the unexpected help that appeared while preparing for the new client.

I’m grateful for all the phone calls and communications with family and friends today.

Once all the grief falls away, the panic passes, and one becomes comfortable with the silent uncertainty of being, one realizes that this is where dreams create reality.

That’s a heady moment of realization…the power to so utterly and completely create and define yourself and your world. The responsibility can be overwhelming.

As I sat in this space…completely overwhelmed and scared to make a mistake…I wondered How do I dream about something when I don’t even know if it exists or if it’s possible? How can dream something better than what I know?

I’m not really certain how to answer that question yet…I’m still experimenting. But. During this void time, I went for a drive on the freeway. It was a splurge drive, harkening back to the days when I drove for mental health…to explore the world…to go to new places, meet new people, and expand my horizon just a little…to connect with the earth. My budget and gas prices have made such drives only memories now. But, on this day, I gave myself a treat and went for a drive.

As I drove, feeling panicky because there was so much traffic and wanting an open road to myself…away from people and the mundane…I gradually became aware that the air around me had changed. The sounds around me had changed. I was surrounded. I looked. I WAS SURROUNDED! Encasing me in ecstasy were three Lamborghinis and two Porsches.

Confession. I know I blogged about the Porsche Carrera being my dream car, but my real dream car is a Lamborghini. At some point I changed my dream because I didn’t think it would ever be possible for me to see a Lamborghini, much less drive or own one. Not that a Porsche would be that much easier for my budget…but at least I’d seen a few of those.

And now THERE WERE THREE LAMBORGHINIS SURROUNDING ME!!! THREE!!!! AT ONCE!

I realized in this moment that tears were streaming down my face. Then I heard a chuckle in my head and heard, We’ll help you remember your dreams. Play! Have fun! You can always create more.